maybe when we're older
by Jessica L. Pearson
Summary: donna's 19 but that doesn't make her stupid and harvey's just a guy (or the story of how they might have possibly met before they were older, before law school and before their goals took control of their decisions)


**maybe when we're older ; pg-13 ; 2,803 words ;**

**chapter 1**

**donna's 19 but that doesn't make her stupid and harvey's just a guy (or the story of how they might have possibly met before they were older, before law school and before their goals took control of their decisions)**

**a/n: this is written for Jacque because she said she doesn't get a lot of people who write things for her and, despite her own fic kind of like it, she encouraged me to go ahead and write it so here it is!**

* * *

She's 19 and that's about all there is to it.

New York City is bigger than Cortland and plays a totally different game at an entirely different speed. It knocked her off her footing at first, the population going from the thousands to the millions, but she's beginning to adjust. She has a semester of NYU behind her, a roommate who practically ignores her existence, and a job that she's settled in at a bar near campus. She makes good tips and the customers are usually regulars, plus her boss let's her read at the bar when afternoons are slow.

NYC is a big city with big dreams and she certainly isn't the only dreamer. She's surprised that she ever got her parents to agree that she could move to the city to go to college. After years of trying to get her parents to agree (and her mother effectively saying no), they finally agreed that she could go to NYU but if there was one problem that she was moving back home. With those stipulations, like she'd ever tell them if something happens.

Working in a bar, however, puts her directly in the crosshairs for harassment, but she's been able to fend for herself for years. Yeah, like she tells her parents everything, very funny, and if they knew they would probably chew her ass out for a few hours or maybe even feel like a drive to the city is permitted; she got into her fair share of trouble in Cortland, just no one ever knew she was the brains behind it. She's that good.

She smiles and flirts and shows a little bit of cleavage to get a boosted tip, ignores the leering, pretends like she doesn't feel the brushes on her hips or the near (yet missed) ass grabs. She's best damn drama student Cortland has ever seen and she's only playing a role. The guy who sits in the corner booth with a book every Tuesday, Thursday and Friday certainly isn't playing a role and she wouldn't be Donna Paulsen if she didn't notice. His jaw clenches tight and this little vein beside his left eye pulsates buy he never says anything, just squeezes the leaf of his book so tightly that he nearly rips it out.

He's never said anything to her though. She's beginning to wonder if he even has a voice. Or balls. Maybe it's wit he's lacking, or maybe he just doesn't want to deal with the bullshit society has to offer him.

She's glad it's Tuesday. They are generally slower than the weekend and not nearly as busy as Thursday nights since that's usually ladies night. The only time that Tuesdays are busy is if there's a game on, and tonight is only moderately busy since it's the first Yankees game of the season. That's the first time she sees the guy in the corner puy his book down and since Chelsea called in sick, she's got a heavier load than normal.

"You want another?" She asks him.

He shakes his head and motions his gratitude, eyes flitting quietly from the television to her and back. Maybe she should try again on commercial since he doesn't seem to be receiving her well. She wonders if he's always this friendly or if she's just the lucky one he's being an asshole to today.

"Today must be my lucky day," she mutters as she turns on her heel. Her fingers stay tightly wrapped around the too of the booth as her steps lead her body. She guesses the bar is filled with dicks, why would Casanova be any different?

He sighs audibly, "it isn't you. I just found out I didn't get the internship I wanted for the summer. It went to some know-it-all with connections."

That's the closest thing to an apology she's going to get out of him, "Want a beer? On the house?"

"I don't need your charity," he counters, lips fusing together.

"Look," she starts, a little sharper than she intends, "it's just a beer. Take it or leave it."

"You never say anything," he muses aloud.

Her eyebrows furrow in response, "what?"

"When they touch you. You just smile and walk away. Does it even bother you?"

She tucks a loose strand of red hair behind her ear, hand proceeding to her hip as she leans her elbow against the booth, "a woman's sexuality isn't a weakness. It's a strength."

He chuckles, fingers beginning to tap against his glass, "are you some kind of feminist?"

"The nineties are all about female empowerment, don't you know? Besides, I don't think it's anything for you to worry about."

"Oh," he retorts with a grin, "I'm not worried. I'm just a concerned citizen who wants to know when to bring their video camera in the event that you rip their arm off and beat them with the bloody stump."

She laughs, the rumble in her shoulders, "I don't think I can give you fair warning. I'm more of a spur of the moment kind of girl."

"You're hardly a girl," he observes, "although, you could probably use some work in the lady department."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" She presses, narrowing her gaze on him.

He shrugs half-heartedly, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he pushes his cold fries around his abandoned plate, "I'm just saying, female? Yes. Woman? Definitely. Lady? You could probably inherit a few manners."

She glares and quickly pinches the sensitive skin of his arm, "you really are just an asshole."

"Hey," he counters, "you started it, and that hurts. Where's your manager? I want to file a report."

"Shut up," she says through a laugh, "let me get you a beer."

"Fine, you talked me into it," he feins a sigh.

"Like I really had to talk you into it," she comments. She shifts her gaze towards the bar, catching eyes with Micah behind the counter, and he gives her a smirk as he wipes out a glass so it doesn't leave water spots. Micah, tall and skinny with dirty blonde hair, is easy going and has a smile that spells trouble but he's loyal and nice - probably the best boss she'll ever have. She motions for another beer, brown bottle with a red label, and Micah nods his acknowledgement. "I'll be back with your complimentary beer."

"Good," he bites with a teasing grin, "the Yankees are back. Don't break my concentration."

"Boys," she mutters with a free of charge roll of her eyes. She turns on her heel and heads back to the bar, pausing at a table full of a few guys to see if they need any refills. She pretends not to notice the way they are halfway to drunk and becoming less restrained every time she walks by. Her nails are a little longer than normal, she can cut one of them if she has to. "Did you guys need anything? Another round perhaps?"

"You're really pretty," the one to her left says.

She paints a smile on, her voice dropping halfway to sultry without promise to commit, "I know."

"I'm sure you get told that a lot," he adds.

"People typically love me because I'm producing their alcohol," she replies with a slight shrug, "keep 'em comin'?"

The guy's hand touches her thigh and she knows what's coming next; "I'll keep you-"

Mister Grabby Hands is cut off with a fist flying into his face, his body follows the weight of the impact and he falls off of his barstool. The nameless guy from the corner is seething, no longer paying attention to his beloved Yankees as he stands three feet behind her with a clinched fist. Her eyes narrow at him warningly as the bar goes quiet, Micah standing at attention the moment the rest of the guys at the table make a move for the guy who clearly came in looking for a fight.

Simon, her best friend from Cortland who moved to the city with her, her future roommate as soon as she can live off of campus, stands from the end of the bar, and Donna quickly lifts a hand to cut him off from proceeding. Simon purses his lips and slowly concedes, lowering back to his seat even though a punch goes flying through the air at her left. The guy with no name, the one who is bitter because he didn't get the internship he wanted, stumbles backwards and she can't tell if it's because he has an iron jaw or if it's because mister grabby hands' friend just can't pack a punch.

The guy from the corner booth shifts his jaw on his hinges, "keep your hands to yourself."

"Listen, buddy-"

"I need you guys to leave," Micah interjects. He stands between the three on one group and motions them to the door. He glances at Donna. "You take him to the back and get him some ice."

She bites back a sigh as she grabs him by the hand and leads him to the back, all the while glaring at the group of guys over Micah's shoulder, "come on, we'll get you all cleaned up."

"I'm fine," he insists; his feet follow behind her anyway, "I mean it, I'm fine. I've been clocked once or twice before."

"Okay, Tough Guy, I get your point, but when Micah says to do something, you do it," she replies sharply. She tugs him in front of her, pushing him through the loose on its hinges door and letting it swing closed behind her. The back room is fairly small, but big enough to do what it needs to, and there's an empty seat that she promptly pushes him into. "Micah's not a very pushy guy, doesn't ask for much, but when he says to do something then you do it."

"You seem to like this Micah guy," he acknowledges.

She tosses him a glare as she pulls a clean washcoth from the shelf and wraps some ice up with it, "he's my boss. I don't sleep with my boss."

"I didn't say anything about sleeping with him," he retorts.

She huffs, "for someone who just got punched in the jaw you sure are talking a lot."

"That guy punches like a girl," he says with a smirk, "I bet you can hit harder than that guy."

"Would you like to find out?" She challenges as she presses the ice to the knuckles of his right hand. The smirk on his mouth only widens and she feels a slight tug at the corners of her own mouth. He only half-heartedly shrugs and she takes it lightly, turning to get some more ice for his jaw even though he clearly doesn't seem to need it. "You came in here looking for a fight tonight."

"Maybe," he admits, "but the guy deserved it."

"Maybe," she echoes in agreement, "but it isn't the first time it's ever happened. I think we both know that."

"Maybe I was looking for a fight but if it's any consolation, I feel better now," he says as she presses another handful of ice wrapped in a washcloth to the red mark on his jaw, "come on, Fire, lighten up. Don't be mad at me for thinking that you deserve a little more respect than that."

"You don't even know my name."

"I would like to know your name," he replies.

Her eyebrows furrow as she connects gazes with him, "that's a hell of a lot of trouble to go through just to find out my name."

"Yeah, well," he shrugs her comment off and smirks, "especially during a Yankees game."

She doesn't say anything, just holds the ice to his face until her fingers are frozen as he keeps the other handful of ice pressed to his hand. She has to admit, the last guy who fought for her honor only did it because he wanted something out of her. She's intrigued by his intentions, doesn't believe he could do it _just because_.

She sighs, "Donna. My name's Donna."

"It's funny because I already knew that," he says with a grin.

She smacks him in his shoulder without thinking about it, "how did you know that?"

"I'm observant," he answers with a shrug, "I'm in here three days a week and, trust me, it isn't because you guys serve the best burgers on the street. I listen, even when you think I'm not, I still hear you."

"The quiet guy in the corner booth is a creeper," she mutters teasingly.

He lightly shakes his head, "Harvey is fine."

"He has a name," she says aloud, "I have to admit, I wasn't even sure you could speak."

"I have a habit of saying too much. I'm not a huge fan of sugar-coating or people, really," he says. She watches him with a quirked eyebrow, something in him seemingly changing, like there's more to him that he'll never tell. She immediately takes this as a challenge she will succeed. "You can stop babying me now. I'm fine."

"Harvey," she says, feels him jerk as his name leaves her mouth and she wonders what that means, "you're going to have a nasty bruise if you don't quit. Not to mention, I'd be surprised if you didn't break your hand."

"I'd be more concerned about the other guy if I were you," he counters.

"Eh," she starts with a shrug, "he deserved it."

Harvey grins and it makes Donna's fingertips tingle.

"Donna!" Simon's voice cuts through whatever tension has settled between her and Harvey, and it makes her stand at attention. Her body is stiff and her fingertips become loose around the ice until it slips out of the opening in the corners of the washcloth and falls to the floor. Her eyes briefly clothes and she turns slightly to glance at Simon in the opening in the door. "Micah needs some help out here."

"Coming!" She shouts back. The door swings shut again and she catches Harvey's gaze, the smirk on his mouth making one appear on her own face. She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth and lightly shakes her head. "You need more ice before I go?"

"I told you to stop babying me," he reminds her.

"Fine," she says, "fuck you too then."

He laughs and it touches her ears like maybe she was never supposed to hear it, "don't do that thing where your feelings get hurt just because I'm an adult."

"Your ego cushioned the blow, I get it," she counters.

"Still get that complimentary beer?" He presses.

She narrows her gaze at him, "now you owe me one for causing a scene."

"Anybody ever tell you that you're a tease?" He sets the washcloth on the counter and pushes himself to his feet, her fingers trailing over his jaw.

She smirks and turns on her heel, his footsteps close behind her, "all the time."

"That's fine, I'll pay," he replies decidedly.

"No you won't," Micah interjects, "if you hadn't hit the guy then I would have. Because you don't work here the bar doesn't get fined."

"Well, let's be honest, it wouldn't have been a fair fight if we would have had to step in," Simon adds.

Harvey gives a head nod but Donna isn't amused, "you men are pigs. I could have handled myself."

"Right," Simon says through a laugh, "honey, you cause more fights than you know."

Donna sees Harvey's eyebrows furrow at Simon's use of the term of endearment, something she no longer pays attention to after years of him calling her that. She rolls her eyes, something that makes Harvey feign a laugh (she knows he wants to ask questions, but he won't). He takes the beer that Micah sets on the bar in front of him and heads back to his booth.

"Do you think he's a loner?" Micah says quietly to her.

She shrugs a tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, "nah, I think he just doesn't like dealing with people's shit. Leave the guy alone."

"He's still watching you," Simon points out.

Donna laughs, "and you think he's the first guy to watch me? Please, don't be so naive."

Simon mock laughs, "we're in the big city now. There are all kinds of people here."

"Get off it," Donna warns.

She leans against the counter as Micah fills the tray with bottles of beer. Simon just shrugs and chugs the rest of his beer. His fingers touch her elbow as he leans in and presses his lips to her cheek, "call me if you need anything."

"Stop babying me," she mutters to him; her gaze immediately shifts to Harvey as the words leave her mouth.


End file.
